Forgotten Sins
by bigb3ar-2nd
Summary: Max Caulfield is plagued by nightmares. The ghosts of the past haunt her, and the only way to put her mind at peace is to return where it all started, the quiescent town of Arcadia Bay. She sets on a journey of deception, vengeance, and repentance - and coming to terms with her past. [Post-Bay ending canon divergence]
1. Figments of Obscurity

'Before you embark on a journey of revenge, _dig two graves_ _.'_

 _Confucius_

 _I opened my eyes as a loud booming sound pierced my ears. My basic instincts made me gasp but I felt something was blocking my nasals, coming with a burning sensation right behind my eyes and a murky taste in my throat. Distraught and confused, it took a few more seconds for my brain to catch up with my body. And I realized that my face was submerged in a puddle of water. I quickly pushed myself up, supporting my body on my arms and my knees. I coughed and hacked as I tried to dissipate the disgusting taste of the muddy water out of my system and wiped my mouth with the sleeve of my already wet shirt._

 _Next thing that welcomed me was the downpour of rain pricking on my body and face like needles, accompanied by a howling, relentless wind that brought a shivering cold down my spine. I wrapped my arms around me and rubbed them, trying to keep my body close and compact to gather whatever heat I could get. But the cruel and uncompromising wind had a different idea for me. I stood up. My whole body rattled as if I've been bashed and hurled by something. Ignoring my exhaustion and the aching of my body, I scanned my surroundings and realized where I was. I know this place, I have been here before. But something was different. No, not just something, everything was different._

 _The scene looked like those movies representing the aftermath of a huge catastrophe, end of times, a bleak and monotone dark world. Torrents of rain were hitting me directly, making me unable to see any further than the arm's length. Thunder was booming in the distance, the howling wind made everything feel ominous._

 _Fear engulfed me, I had to get away from this place. But there was just one path that went up the hill. A hill? I realized I was passed out at the mouth of a beaten path going up. Something told me, that I should run away, that I shouldn't be here. So, I turned around, but that momentary rush of energy in me dissipated as I saw the path behind me was broken… there was nothing. Complete darkness, void, like an abyss. Another surge of fear engulfed me and I tried to step back, but a little quicker than my brain could register my intentions, swaying my balance. I tripped on my feet and fell on my bottom._

 _I heard a giggle behind me. I felt my heart jump, almost coming out of my throat and I gasped, turning my head to the direction from where I heard that laughter. But there was no one there, the path going uphill was still empty._

 _Reluctantly, I called back. "H-Hello? Is anybody there?" I waited for a reply but did not get any. Looking towards the broken path one more time, I realized I have no choice but to go uphill and find a shelter or a cover from this downpour. I got up, and wiped my muddy hands over my already dirtied pants and started climbing the path. Something inside me told me it was a bad idea. But bad idea or not, I had no choice. Behind me was an abyss, nothingness, ready to drag me away if I kept staring at it._

 _As I kept walking, I kept glancing around at my surroundings again, but the overwhelming feeling of dread made me speed up my pace. Maybe, because I was scared and overwhelmed, I felt that something was lurking in the wallowing and screaming wind. I felt like whispers in my ears. Someone calling my name, telling me to hurry up. As if entranced, I felt I was losing control of my body, and my legs starting to increase the pace, and before I even realized, I was running up the path._

 _I didn't care if my breathing was getting heavier, and my lungs burned with the lack of air, and not to forget the shivering cold because of the rain that kept punishing me. But the whispers started to get louder and louder, making me want to reach the top as soon as possible. Something grew in me, a feeling, something that was akin to… loss. If I don't go there, I will lose everything. So, I ran and ran, but I wasn't able to reach the top, I was no way near it. I was sure I ran with all my might, but my destination didn't come any closer._

 _Confused and frustrated, I growled, clenching my hands in balls of fists. 'I have to reach there, I have to save them.' This thought brought a new confusion to me, 'Save them? How?' Again, my thoughts started to jumble up, confusion gripped me. 'What does this place still exists? Why does it keep dragging back here?'_

 _"It's so like you to abandon us, Max." I heard a familiar voice behind me. My heart felt like it was going to burst out of my chest. An involuntarily sob came out of my mouth. I turned around and there, I saw someone. A figure, but blurry. I could barely see the face of that figure as it was blurred, the only thing I could make out was messy and disheveled locks of flamboyant blue. 'Chloe?' I wiped my eyes to clear my vision blocked by the rainwater, but the figure was not there anymore. 'No, wait!' I pleaded but the figure ignored my voice and faded into obscurity._

 _"What do you expect? She didn't even care about any of us, anyway." Another voice, a little intangible and agitated. I turned around again and saw another figure with a shorter stature than the previous one. Her long strands of blonde were concealing her already hazy face, but what caught my eyes was one lonely blue jay feather dangling on the figure's right ear and dancing with the wind, and for a moment, I thought it was alive, and wanted to leave its owner._

 _I felt a pang in my chest, an ache like someone just clenched my heart and squeezed it, "No! I never forgot anything," my mouth moved and the words came out on its own. My voice was desperate, hurt, and my lips began to tremble. This feeling, this loss, it made my chest tighten and a clot was stuck in my throat, which I desperately tried to swallow. "I did everything I could. Please believe me." I pleaded to the figures._

 _I heard another voice from a different direction now. It was a timid voice but full of hurt and accusation, "You're a liar. You broke your promise. You should have died with us."_

 _Died? Yes, I should be dead. I should have died that time already. "No, I have to make everything right. They cannot get away with this. I have to do it. I cannot die like this." Again, the words kept escaping my mouth without me even realizing. And then, I did realize, this was not me, this was not my voice at all. I looked at my hands and my body. My hair was longer, my chest was protruding three sizes more than I remember having. 'Wait? What is going on? Who am I?'_

 _"So, now you are pretending you don't even know us or yourself. How depraved have you gotten, Max?" Said another voice, prompting me to turn my head to face the voice. I couldn't contain the eerie feeling I had inside me. Frighteningly strange, like a reflection in a mirror, I was standing right in front of me, holding a spiteful smirk on her face._

 _My counterpart raised an old Polaroid camera to her face and pressed the shutter button. A blinding white light flashed accompanied by a whirring sound, "Look at your face. That expression, it's Priceless. Get it?" I could feel the bitterness in my doppelganger's voice._

 _But before I could say anything, my vision was blinded by another flash and everything vanished. The whole scene changed. I was in a white room, sitting on a chair, I felt a sting on my wrist. I looked down and I felt my blood drained from my body, my eyes went wide, and a croaking scream escaped my mouth as I started feeling the pain. My hands were bound to the chair with barbed wires, and the razor-sharp spikes were digging into my skin, tearing into my flesh. Any slight moment was resulting in an excruciating pain. I screamed and called for help, but I felt my voice was muffled like my mouth was covered with a cloth or something, even though I couldn't feel anything in my mouth._

 _"Aah, Max, good to see you finally awake. I was worried if I had accidentally overdosed you. I might be losing my touch. But, anyways, now that you are up, we can finally continue our session." Again, I heard a voice but could not see anybody. But, I remember this voice. This sarcastic and cold voice belonged to him. It brought a new feeling to me. I felt like a fire was just lit in my stomach, making my blood boil. Even though I was in pain, I could feel myself scowling towards someone or something. A hatred burned in me and I gritted my teeth and my mouth moved on its own again._

 _"You bastard, you will not get away with this. I swear I will kill you with my own hands," I screamed at him._

 _The voice replied me with a chuckle and sighed. " Empty words, Max. You couldn't do anything before and you will never be able to do anything, ever. Should I jog your memory a bit?" His voice was jeering and full of sarcasm. Just hearing about it was making my stomach churn and I felt like gagging. The ridiculing voice continued. "Do you remember? You tried your best, you almost got me, but I walked free. You did nothing. You just sat there, crying pathetically, screaming. Do you remember, Max? They said Not Guilty."_

 _True to his words, he did jog my memory. How can I forget that day? At the courtroom, where I sat helplessly, my dying screams buried under the loud jeers and confusion. That day, I lost everything._

A fresh set _of tears started dripping down my cheeks despite holding a scornful glare at the direction in front of me as if I could see the owner of the voice. I felt an unwavering desire to hurt him._

 _"Oh, I like this look on your face, Max. Defiant as always." I heard him again, I wanted to say something back to him. Curse him, insult him. But again, my body and my mouth were not in my control at all. Suddenly, I could hear a chewing and crunching sound, like someone was eating something. "Hmm… this tastes good," he said, and I realized the sounds were coming from a side of the room. I tilted my head in that direction and I felt my heart stopped. I was frozen. Right at that moment, I wanted to scream and run away. Anything that could get me away from the horror._

 _The owner of the voice, it was not a man. But a large dog, rotting and hunched. Pieces of rotten flesh were dangling from its body, exposing its ribs. Either it was my brain playing tricks with me or I was too occupied to realize it, but the room started to smell rotten and pungent. The overwhelming smell burned my insides and I had no choice but to hold my breath. I was barely able to stomach the horrid scene._

 _I tried to comprehend if this was real at all or if I'd really gone mad. Maybe it was real? Maybe I was mad from the beginning because this being in front of me did not exist in the human world. It had the rotting body of a dog, but the face, clearly that of a man blurred and distorted. Its mouth was smeared with blood and frothy saliva dripping down its chin. A piece of flesh dangling between its teeth as it chewed on it. It turned its face towards me. This time a gasp escaped my mouth as the ghastly being grinned at me. Disregarding the pain in my wrists, I tried to move. My fading sanity told me to get away from him or it, or whatever that thing was._

 _"Oh, where are my manners," it spoke. I was trying to make myself believe that it was not the source of the voice, but I saw its mouth move and form the words. " Give me a moment, Max. I am just done with this one, and then I will tend to you. We have all the time in the world," it said and again grinned at me and went back to gnaw and tear whatever it was eating._

 _There, I saw it. The body of a young girl was laid there, smooth and pearly white skin, like a painted vision of an angel but also disfigured and gnawed by the beast who was feasting on her. A lopsided chignon with uneven streaks of dirty blonde, but despite the angelic appearance of the splayed-out body, there were no eyes, just two hollow voids. The longer I looked, the more I felt I was looking directly into a lifeless soul, also telling me stories of unspeakable horrors. Not a single thread was covering her exposed frame, save for a cross necklace on her neck. As I looked closely, I saw a few small bruised puncture marks, like needles on her neck. Her wrists were bound together with the same barbed wires as mine were._

 _I winced as I saw her wrists were even messier than mine. The skin was torn and tattered, and the spikes of the wires dug deep into her exposed flesh. Blood was pouring out of her empty void sockets as if she was crying blood. But then I saw her move, and a whimper came out of her mouth, weak and pleading. Oh god! She was alive. The monster was feeding on her as she tried to move. I couldn't bear it anymore and I tried to scream, plead to the monster to leave her alone. But my voice was not there anymore. I was sure I was screaming my lungs out, but my lips didn't move. I was still frozen at the sight._

 _And then, the girl stopped moving. The monster looked up, and with an agitated look, it snorted, "Incompetent! See, Max? This is why I don't like these subjects. They try to look so pure, so innocent. Just one push, one pill, and you see their depraved colors." His voice was full of malice and sneering. But so was my expression. I knew I was glaring at him but my eyes were burning, stinging._

 _I realized I was crying. The monster sneered at me and shook its head, "No, no, no. Max. You cannot show weakness. You are my most valued prey. You are far stronger than all the subjects I have tasted. But alas, I never managed to get my hands on you. You eluded me, but…" Its scowling face turned to a jovial smirk, and it leaped at me…_

* * *

The silence of the room was cut with a shrieking scream and a figure sat up abruptly, heaving and gasping for breath, clutching her chest and looking around frantically. Distraught and confused, she looked at her surroundings and found she was in her room. She wiped the sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand and ran her hand over her parched throat, trying to soothe the burning sensation. She waited for a few seconds to regulate her breathing, but the expression on her face showed only distraught and confused.

' _Again, the same nightmare? What is it trying to tell me?'_ contemplated as she fixed her unkempt and disheveled platinum blonde locks off her face, swiping them back with both hands. She shifted to the edge of the bed and poured water from the pitcher into the glass and chugged it down. She sighed contentedly as the lukewarm water quenched her thirst. Placing the glass back on the side table. She picked up the small alarm clock from the side table and looked at the dull green letters, **06:25 am, Sat – Oct 6 – 2018.**

Putting down the clock back in its place, she got up and walked towards the closet. She opened the closet and pulled a drawer. From the drawer, she took out a small wooden keepsake box and walked back to the bed. She opened the lid of the box and looked at the contents of the box with solemn, melancholic eyes.

In the contents, there was a picture of two young girls clad in pirate's costume. The blonde girl had a cheeky and energetic grin on her face, and standing next to her was a younger girl with a soft smile of her own. She picked the photo and ran her fingers over the blonde girls face.

"Good morning, Chloe," She said in a barely audible voice, though she couldn't help to hide the shiver in her voice or her eyes getting misty. She remembered the nightmare. She could still remember the accusation and a guilt gnawing at her, at her conscience, the survivor's guilt.

It's been five years, since that week. How a single gunshot changed everything she believed in. How the echo of that shot tore through her. How she had collapsed on the ground hiding her head between her arms and knees weeping silently as just a few steps further, the person who meant the world to her was fading away, yet she didn't have the courage to go against her final wish. She didn't have the courage to sacrifice a town and live with the guilt of destroying hundreds if not thousands of lives. But what did she gain from it, from sacrificing her? She lost to the cruelty of a biased and corrupt justice.

She lost more than she gained, her friends, her parents, her life, her identity. Yet, she was still here. Waking up every single day with the same nightmare, with the same accusation, with the same empty feeling of loss. Max Caulfield was dead inside.

Ignoring her bludgeoning thoughts, she shuffled through the small trinkets. A flip phone tagged with stickers, a folded beanie, wristbands, another photo of Chloe and Rachel. Her eyes fell on a glimmering triple bullet necklace tied together with a black band. She picked the necklace and looked at it longingly. Another pang of sorrow hit her, as her throat tightened. For a moment, the bullet reminded her of the gunshot echoing in Blackwell's ladies bathroom, prompting her to throw away the necklace with a hiss.

Immediately regretting what she did, she quickly sat down on the floor, picking the necklace again. _'I'm so sorry, Chloe, I didn't mean to.'_

Cocooning the cold, inanimate memento in her hands, to her chest, praying that this was yet another bad dream, praying it to be over. That these five years never happened and Chloe is alive. But all of it was in vain. Every day she'd wake up to a cursed day and every day reminded her of her loss. Living a lie for a life. Max Caulfield was dead to the world.

 _'_ _I should get ready,'_ She thought and as if right on cue, she heard a soft rap on the door, prompting her to turn her head towards it, "Y-yes?" She asked as she shifted a bit and lifted herself up. The exhaustion of the nightmare was still evident in her voice.

"Miss Alice? Are you alright?" She heard a worried and muffled voice from behind the door.

"I'm fine, give me a minute," Max fixed her hair again, and wore her gown, covering her glistening and sweaty body. She opened the door and saw the elderly housemaid standing up, holding a covered tray in her hands.

"Mrs. Ojeda, I've told you not to call me Alice when we are alone. Max is fine." The first thing Max did was complain and a pout. Her arms crossed over her chest. But she could not keep that face for long as she looked at the worried expression of the elder lady.

"And I've told you many times, not to call me Mrs. Ojeda. It reminds me of my nagging mother-in-law, may she never find peace in the afterlife," said the housemaid with a frown on her face. Max quirked her eyebrow up and put a hand on her hip. "Oh, don't give me that look young lady. You will know the devil known as mother-in-law when you get married."

Max rolled her eyes and groaned loudly, "Ugh! Not happening in this century, Aunt Fabiana. Come on in. Let me help you with this," she said as she extended her hand towards the elder lady.

"That's kind of you, Max, but if Master Bradford see you carrying the tray, he will chew me out. And I am too old to be told off," Fabiana objected and entered the room quickly before Max could take the tray from her hands. The younger woman shrugged and followed the maid, closing the door behind her.

She sat on the couch as Fabiana set the small coffee table for her. The maid got up and walked towards the windows, "Dios Mio, Max. Why do you always keep these curtains closed? It's so fusty here." She slid the curtains and opened the windows to pave way for fresh air and sunlight. The room brightened instantly as the yellow orb's piercing rays found their way in, along with a fresh misty smell of rain. All of a sudden, the smell reminded Max of the nightmare she had seen, and her body instinctively jerked a bit and shivered. She wrapped her arms around her as she looked on at the tray with a blank expression. ' _Why does it not leave me alone. I am tired of being reminded.'_

"Another nightmare?" Max snapped her head up as the maid asked her, again with a confused yet worried expression on her face.

She sighed and rested her head on the couch. "Yeah, same places, voices, the accusation of the people I couldn't protect. And him, that monster." She leaned in again and held her head in her hands and twined her fingers behind her neck, trying to dissipate the uncertainty. She felt an arm around her as Fabiana sat next to her. Max didn't say anything, only rested her head on the elder lady's shoulder, and exhaled despondently. "Aunt Fabiana, I am tired of this, of everything. The reminders, their voices, full of hate and accusation. I cannot bear it anymore. What am I supposed to do?" Her voice cracked a bit as she recalled the scornful voices tearing into her soul, accusing her of a treachery she knew she didn't commit yet she blames herself for it. What are they trying to say? What is she supposed to do?

Fabiana ran her hand through Max's hair and spoke softly, "Mi Pobre niña, I can only imagine what you are going through. Dreams and nightmares can be both a blessing and a curse. But, you have to try to speak to someone, you know, like those specialists?"

Max lifted her head up sharply and huffed, "Not that again, Fabiana. You sound just like Grandfather. I don't need any more professional help and their poking and prodding. We tried, it didn't work. End of story. If I have to live with these nightmares, then I'll do that. If it's a message and a reminder, I'll find it myself. Please do not tell me to go seek help. I am not mad, so you should not concern yourself with my issues." Her voice raised in a sharp agitation. It took her some time to realize that she was clenching her fists, with gritted teeth and scowling towards the elder lady, who looked pensive and shrunken, "I…I am sorry Aunt Fabiana, I didn't mean to yell at you. God, I am a mess." Max twined her fingers together and exhaled with downcast eyes.

"What are you saying, sweetheart. You, yourself had said this before. Alone, we are friends. So, if you think of me as a friend, then you are allowed to vent it out on me and talk to me. I will not let you suffer by keeping everything inside you. Lo entiendes, niña?"

Max nodded, and a smile formed on her face, "Si, Aunt Fabiana," she said. The elderly maid responded with a fond smile. "Is grandfather up?"

"Yes, and he told me to call you when you are ready." Fabiana got up from the couch as she informed Max.

Max sighed, her demeanor changed completely as if she became a different person all of a sudden. "Okay, thanks," she said as she picked up a toast from the breakfast platter. ' _Why would he call me so early in the morning?'_ she thought as she chewed on the toast. She picked up the tablet from the table and browsed through her bookmarks. Stopping at an e-news site, she scrolled through few pages and stopped at one snippet. Her expression changed again, this time a scowl formed on her face. ' _I see…'_ and placed the tablet back.

Done with her breakfast, she slid open her walk-in wardrobe door and browsed through her vast collection of attires. ' _Let's see, let's see…'_ She picked up an electric blue silk Halter gown and hummed thoughtfully, ' _Nope, too early for this.'_ Placing the dress back on the rack again, she tapped her finger over her lips and thought a bit more, sliding through a few more dresses. A gleeful smile formed on her face as she spotted one of her favorite bell-sleeved, round necked black above knee-length one-piece. Satisfied, she picked the dress and walked out of the wardrobe and placed the dress on the bed. Stripping out of her nightgown and panties, she dropped them in the laundry basket and entered the attached bathroom.

She stood in front of the mirror and took a long glance at herself. Deep into her hetero chroma eyes, an asymmetrical pair of muted cloudy gray and deep azure blue. She didn't know since when but it had become a ritualistic habit of hers, to look at herself in the mirror as if she was looking for something, searching for an answer _'_ _Who are you?'_ she asked herself and waited as if her own reflection would reply her. The person in the mirror was not her. It was not the reflection of a petite brunette girl she used to be. Science has done far more intricate research and evolution. A complete makeover via surgery was just icing on the top.

She snorted at the imprudent thought and moved away from the mirror while releasing her long blonde hair from its loose knotted constraints. Her hair submitted to the gravity, falling on her slender shoulders and back. Turning on the shower and feeling the temperature for a few seconds, she walked in and closed the bi-fold door behind her.

* * *

Max knocked on the door and twisted the knob, pushing the door into the room. A hypocritical thought ran through her head from the earlier event as the housemaid did complain about the lack of luminosity in her own room. Perhaps all of the residents of the mansion liked to be concealed in dark rooms. There was not a single light turned on in the room save for one window where the sun was firing its rays in, to dispel the darkness. A lone man stood by the window with his hands clasped behind his back. She flipped the switch next to the door and the room brightened, spilling light in every corner of the spacious room.

It was a combined bedroom and study with antiquated and elegant furniture sprayed out in an artistic placement. The walls were plastered with beige wallpapers imprinted with mild green motif patterns insinuating a class of its own The porcelain ceiling and polished wooden floor of the Bradford Mansion, built on the outskirts of rural Sacramento, California, showed no signs of aging, despite being at least five decades old. A king-sized bed, akin to the fashion of the whole room, was placed in the center of the room, with a small study desk on the right side. Half circle table on its left which hosted a pair of photo frames of a couple and an adolescent slightly chubby girl with a joyful smile on their faces. A small coffee plus dining table was occupying a few paces in front of the bed paired with three cushioned chairs surrounding it.

He turned around and his solemn visage turned to a warm and refined smile befitting the lord of the manor. Harrison Bradford, even though he was in his pajamas, with a satin sleeping robe hugging his frail and thin body, his expression held an appearance of ambiguity and lost pride, concealing hundreds of thoughts. The swept back hair, its volume still like in his prime had dulled into a silvery matte, showing his experience in life and age. Max sometimes wondered what secrets that cordial smile was hiding.

"Good morning, Grandfather," Max greeted the elderly man, showering a fond smile of her own.

"Ah, Good morning, Alice. Fabiana told me you had another nightmare, how are you feeling?" Bradford asked with a hint of worry in his voice but his expressions conflicted with the words coming out of his mouth, almost stoic.

' _Fabiana had to do it. I told her many times not to tell him about it.'_ "I am fine, grandfather, it's nothing bad," Max replied quietly.

He walked towards the chair next to an antique Victorian-era looking desk and sat on the chair. "Alice, you know these recurring nightmares are not good for your health, perhaps you should think about visiting your psychiatrist again?" he asked while his back turned to Max and pulled one of the drawers.

Max bore her eyes on his back with a frown and pouted. "Please, Grandfather, don't start with this again. I told you, I am fine. Those are just dreams, I am used to it now." So she said, but in reality, her nightmares have been becoming more frequent and disturbing. They felt so real to her sometimes that she would wake up and still feel like she was stuck in the fabricated world of her disturbed mind.

"Besides..." she continued with a vexed demeanor. "It's you I am more concerned about. Have you been skipping your medications, again? You haven't fully recovered from your stroke, grandfather." Her brows furrowed in a mild temperament.

Bradford turned back, with an envelope in his hand and smiled towards Max. "So, nothing is obscured from you. I can imagine you have put that lousy woman to spy on me."

Max closed the distance to the elderly seated man and knelt down in front of him, putting her hand on his and said in an imploring tone. "Please, Grandfather, you have to take care of yourself. Your doctors told you that another stroke could be fatal to you."

The elder man grimaced at this. "Oh, don't show me this long face, my dear child. Those doctors just speak obloquy. I am as healthy as my youth, they just prattle those medical lingos and want to make a fortune out of a chance ailment. Do not worry about me," he said as he affectionately ran his wrinkled hand over Max's head.

Max blew a puffing air and shook her head. "You could have made a better excuse, Mr. Harrison Bradford. So, nope, I am not buying it," she said as she got up and looked around the room and found his breakfast tray untouched. "And you haven't had your breakfast. Do you really want me to force on you, you old coot." She held his hand and lifted him up. "Come on, up, up."

The old man sighed, being dragged to the coffee table and sat down as Max uncovered the tray, and handed the assortments of pills to the elder man. He grimaced at the amount he had to ingest before he could even eat anything, but he had no heart to refuse the ardent behavior of the younger girl, so reluctantly, he popped the pills in his mouth and washed it down with a few gulps of the citrus juice. On dissimilarity of his age, he made a gagging face which made Max chuckle but she was contented.

"What is this, grandfather?" she asked the older man while seating on the chair next to him as she eyed the envelope curiously. She tilted her eyes to match with the old man's and observed his expressions again had changed something she seldom saw on his face. He extended the envelope towards her, which she took casually and flipped it and saw her name on the outer envelope.

 **Ms. Alice Carlson**

She tilted her head and looked towards the old man with a confused look and he replied with a nod, with the same petulant expression. Max opened the envelope and took out the card. Her eyes followed the gold embossed printed words.

' _We are delighted to invite you to the formal gathering for the P &C Photography Exhibition. Showcasing the latest masterpieces by the striving and talented photographers,_

 _Victoria Chase and Nathan Prescott.'_

 _Cocktails, Hors-d'oeuvres, and Dinner_

 _Saturday, October 6th, 7:00 p.m._

 _The Mitz-Sheldon_

 _582 Stockton Street, San Francisco, California 94108_

 _RSVP: Mark Jefferson +1 xxxx xxx xxxx_

By the time she was done reading the invitation card, her jaw jutted out, her face was red and her eyes were burning, throwing daggers at the piece of laminated paper. She clenched her eyes and held her breath for a few seconds as she rested her head and let out a cold and airy sigh. She flicked the card on the table and stayed in that position for a few moments, finally opening her eyes and looked towards the older man, who was observing her blankly. She picked up the card again and asked. "Are you sure about this?" The cheerfulness of her voice was gone, replaced with a mixture of a wary and a belligerently cold one.

"This is the only way, Alice. It has to be, you know we need this." Bradford kept the same stoic face and his voice had the same deep tone unlike Max's who felt a bit irate of the sudden development in the room.

Max sighed and nodded. "I understand. I'll go. But, grandfather, I am surprised you managed to get an invitation. I mean I was sure. But still, how?"

"I have my means, dear girl. It was not easy to get an invitation to a private party involving Sean. But let's just say, all will be worth it in the end. You wanted a chance, so this is it. Will you manage?" The older man asked with

She scoffed at the old man's insinuation, "Of course, grandfather. I've been waiting for this for a long time. This is our chance." A snide grin grew on her face which the aged man replied with a smile of his own but turned serious again as his mirth died and he put his hand on her knee.

"Alice, make me proud," he said but his voice held a hint of authority as he looked into her eyes.

"Yes, grandfather," replies the platinum-blonde girl as she eyed the card again, _'Chloe, it's time.'_

* * *

 **AN: So, you cuddly hairy, beary friend, back with a story. Firstly, I am sorry for the delay on Metamorphosis's chapters. In my defense, I have few valid reasons, 1: Depression, 2: I've been spending and wallowing my time in a psychiatric hospital and been coping with the said depression. But more on that later and hopefully I'll be back to full health mental and physical and continue meta.**

 **But right now, let's talk about Forgotten Sins. I've published this before, but then I spent a bit more time on laying the foundation of the story and discussing with my good friend LonesomeBard, I came to a conclusion that instead of an OC character as the protagonist, why not shift and tell the story differently. So I have Max but also Alice. Why is Max being called Alice, you all might've already figured out, and those who didn't, please stick with me and find out more about the five-year gap, what has happened in those five years.**


	2. Price of Vanity

This chapter contains some heavy subjects related to suicide, depression, PTSD and panic attacks. But in my justification, I have to write what I feel about my story and the characters. And the scenes depicted are necessary. But, it's not that bad.

* * *

 **Arcadia Bay**

 **October 7th, 2018, 01:47 am**

Arcadia Bay would have been blanketed in a veil of utter darkness if not for the countless twinkling stars carpeting the sky and the ever so luminescent moon was not trying to swallow the dark. A small female figure was furtively sneaking around the fences. Her face was shrouded and hidden behind a hoodie. She was taking cautious steps towards the back of the double story house situated in the outer meadows of the sleepy bay town.

The incandescent lunar light reflected on the figure's deep blue eyes as her eyes scanned the main door and the lower floor's windows. She froze on her steps and lowered her stance even more as the curtain blocking the view of the interior shifted a little. Impulsively, she held her breath and her eyes fluttered and flicked to the window and the main door back and forth. Staying frozen for a few seconds, and deciding the curtain swayed on its own and her position was not given away, she eased her frozen and stiff body by blowing an exhilarant breath.

Just to be cautious, she unhooked the small ornament chain, clasped as a bridge on her worn out jeans of the same blackness of the night itself and a ratty Velcro wallet in back pocket. She took out the wallet, wrapped the chain around it and shoved it deeper into her front pocket and continued her sneaky march towards the backyard.

Reaching the back, she quickly hoisted herself up, off the fences and winced as the weathered fence creaked under her weight. This time instead of waiting again, she slid down the length and, at a striding pace, quickly hugged the outer frame of the house. Again, the momentary hitch did not stop her sneaky march towards her target, the back door of the house.

She knelt down in front of the dried and withered flower pot and lifted it up. A grin grew on her face as she found the shimmering object, pasted with a small tape under the surface of the pot. She ripped the tape and threw it away, took the key and placed the pot back in its place. She rose back to her feet and glanced at her surroundings one more time. Once contended that she was still alone, she quickly inserted the key into the lock and twisted it. With a muffled click, the door was unlocked. She twisted the knob and slowly pushed the door and walked into the house, again quietly closing the door behind her and locking it.

The door led into the adjoined kitchen and the living room of the house. The interior was still shrouded in darkness, which was good for the sneaking figure. She started taking deliberate and soft steps, walking in the direction of the stairs in the main hall going up. Triumphant, she started ascending the stairs. Almost halfway to her destination, the lights of the hallways flickered and illuminated the house.

"What time do you think it is?" An authoritative voice boomed behind her, making the girl sneer and she mouthed a 'fuck.' Her shoulders sagged as she turned around, facing the owner of the voice. A woman in her mid-forties with piercing hazel eyes and arms crossed over her chest as she scowled at the figure.

The busted young girl rolled her eyes and leaned against the wall, "What do you want? I came downstairs to drink water," she said sheepishly, but her eyes showed an irate expression as they flickered, tried not to meet with hers.

"With your boots on?" the woman replied sharply. "Do you take me for a fool?" The elder woman asked but didn't get anything from the young girl, she continued, "Where have you been?" The young girl kept her silence, "To that dirty sawmill again? How many times do I have to tell you not go near that place and meet those people." The woman raised her voice as she chided the young girl.

"As if you fucking care? I'll go wherever I want, with whoever I want," The girl replied and tried to turn around when the woman grabbed her by her arm tightly and turned her around.

"Because I am your mother." the woman said, "Don't walk away from me. I am not done talking and don't you use this language in my house," She glared at the younger girl who hissed as she tried to pry her arm away from the tight grip of the older woman.

"Let go of me," she yelled, "I am not your fucking slave to listen to your bullshit." She raised her voice equally as she glared back at the woman.

The woman released her arm, and her expression softened. "Why are you doing this, Lynn? For how long?" she said with a hint of worry in her voice. "You are skipping school, disappear for the whole day and sneak into the house in the middle of the night. Why are you so intended to worry me?" the woman asked, as her voice wavered and her eyes turned misty.

Lynn's eyes flickered for a second, showing penitence. But again, she creased her brows together and her expression contorted to a disgusted glower. She bit the inside of her cheek and nodded. "Because you only want me here to order me around. You do not see me as a person, Amanda." Her own eyes turned glassy but her piercing scowl was still present.

"Do not disrespect me, Lynn. At least call me mother," Amanda objected meekly.

"You don't deserve respect. You never respected Kate. You never saw her as a person, and because of you, she is not here anymore." Her voice got thick and quivered as she swallowed the clot with her tightened throat.

Amanda's face fell. Downcast, she shook her head, "It's not true, Lynn, you know it's not true. I never meant that for Kate. I was worried about her. I only wanted her to get away from here. To stay safe!"

Lynn scoffed again as she flayed her arms in the air and smirked towards her mother. "There you go, with your excuses and your fake teary remorse. Don't sell me this crap. It is your fault, and I will never forgive you for what you did. Here, let me make it easy for you." she leaned her face closer to her mother's. "Read my lips you bitch, YOU FUCKING KILLED MY SISTER!"

*Slap* Lynn's face twisted to the side, as a flash went behind her eyes. She felt the burning sting on her face. Then she heard a gasp. Covering her cheek with her hand, she scowled back with rapidly watering and stinging eyes. She saw Amanda's red-rimmed eyes as she held her quivering hand to her lips, and looked remorsefully towards her daughter she had just slapped.

Lynn said nothing this time. She turned around and ran up the stairs, ignoring the pleas of her mother behind her and walked into her room. She slammed the door behind her loudly and locked it. Ignoring the muffled voice of her mother calling her name, saying she was sorry and she didn't mean to hit her. She angrily wiped the tears from her eyes with the heels of her hands.

She walked towards her dresser and picked up a small framed photo of a young girl with an angelic smile, sporting a dirty blonde chignon hairstyle. She walked towards her bed and plopped on it. Holding the photo frame on her lap, she ran her quivering fingers on the face of the girl, and a drop of sadness fall on the photo frame, and another. She hugged the photo close to her chest as her body jerked with her silent sobs. She fell on her bed, shrinking into a fetal position as her sobbing got harder. Memories of her sister started surfacing.

* * *

 **Marsh Residence**

 **October 12th, 2013, 10:39 AM**

There was an eerie silence in the Marsh residence. Yesterday's events in the courtroom had taken a toll on the residents. So many mixed feelings. Richard Marsh had his hands clasped together in front of his lips. His eyes were red and the bags under them insinuated that he hadn't been able to sleep. He'd always trusted his daughter, Kate and always believed that whatever she will do, she will always remain true to her teachings and be a kind, selfless person.

However, what they had shown him in the courtroom had rattled him. Yet, He wanted to believe his daughter, her every word. He disregarded his wife's exasperation, he ignored the court proceedings. He ignored the snide and unethical remarks from Prescott's lawyers or the jeering laughter of the people present in the room. He believed his daughter was innocent and was a victim and intended to hold on to it. It didn't matter, if the video was true, or the words of her fellow students were true or if they trampled her pride and dragged her into a dark corner.

None of that mattered to Richard. He was the type of a man who would believe his family over the whole world even if every single person was against him and his family. Despite all that, he was feeling an unease in his heart. Before Kate ran away from the courtroom, in utter despair, their eyes met and Richard saw it. The way his daughter looked at him, so defeated, shattered, looking for help in his eyes. But, he couldn't do anything, as he froze at that moment. He couldn't tell his daughter that everything will be alright, like usual, and he saw his daughter disappear behind the courtroom's exit door. He stood there, speechless, frozen and confused on what to believe anymore.

He regretted not running after his daughter at that time. She needed his support and he failed as a father to understand what his daughter was going through for the past two weeks. They bullied her for her beliefs and her abstinence campaign. They filmed her during her momentary weakness and intoxication. They exposed her and all he did was sat there, appalled, in disbelief. He heard it from his wife, he heard it from his peers and the people of the church. Still, he believed his daughter, because his daughter was a pure, innocent, and a kind person. She would never do anything deliberately to shame him or her own teachings. Yet, he was here, in regret.

Lynn was seated on the single sofa, her knees curled on her chest and arms wrapped around it. Her eyes were red and welled up. She was not allowed in the court by her parents, so she sat in her room, waiting for them to return. She was hyped, wanted to greet them when they returned triumphantly. The doorbell rang, she ran to open the door to greet her parents and her elder sister with a smile. But when she opened the door, all she saw was the hunched and defeated body of his proud and kind father. He did not look like Richard Marsh she grew up idolizing and adoring. He looked thin, and his sparkling eyes were filled with a solemn uncertainty. Then she looked at her at her mother, wincing at the sight of her hardened, steely gaze. Her jutted jaw and the muscles of her face tightened showing her ire.

Her mother was always strict, authoritative, especially on Kate and Lynn herself. She would chide them for minor things, berate them and force them to repent of even insignificant mishaps. But she had never seen this look on her mother's face. Lynn was 10, but she knew something had happened. So, she asked for her sister, she asked where Kate is. Her father's quivering lips formed a smile and he cupped her cheek and told her she's alright. She would be coming back home, tomorrow.

Her mother, however, screamed that Kate will not set foot in this house. She will be sent to a monastery, or to their relatives. Lynn didn't understand what she meant. She had been kept in the dark. She'd heard whispers in the church, people pointing fingers at them. Her friends were avoiding her. Nobody would answer her phones. Nobody wanted to join her in studies, or help her father in community work.

The whole two weeks were like that for the Marsh family. In the house, there was a silence which was gnawing at her. The silence was only broken by the arguments between her parents. Her father trying to pacify her raging mother. Her mother blaming it on her father's weakness to be lenient to her daughters. She would blame his decision to allow Kate to enroll in Blackwell Academy and stay in the dorms. She blamed him for what her daughter did. Lynn's innocent mind could not understand the dark and dense air that was swirling in the house. So, she would just curl up in her room, hiding under her blanket and shed silent tears. Her happy family was breaking apart, bit by bit and she couldn't understand it at all.

Amanda Marsh, stood by the window, looking through the curtains. Her gaze was far away. As much of a strict mother she was, she loathed the idea of hurting her own daughters. The strictness was because of her fears. She did not want her daughters to become like those ill-bred, strayed teenagers who would mock their parents, and resort to drugs and alcohol. Shaming and betraying their parents' trust, by indulging in indecency and getting hurt, and ruining their lives. So, she had to be strict. To keep her daughters safe from the darkness of the rotten society. To let them grow into becoming respectful adults.

She did not hate any of her daughters. She loved them. They were her children, but she had to compensate for Richard's softness. Yet, in mere two weeks, her years of teachings, and cautious upbringing of her daughters, all of that was trampled to the ground by the mistake her daughter had made. She'd given in to the desires. She'd committed an immodest sin. Something that had destroyed the tranquil of their house. When they'd told her about the video that was circulating on the internet, she didn't believe it.

Her sister, Abigail had sent the video to her phone and what she had seen was something she had not expected from Kate, her sweet and obedient daughter. That girl in the video was so drunk that she was stumbling down and crawling on her knees, was not her daughter. Fraternizing with boys of her age, indulged in indecency, disregarding her disheveled clothes, her exposed cleavage. She was not paying heed to the crawling hands, disgustingly groping her body. Amanda, not bear to watch the whole video, had refused to do so. She had seen enough. Her sister called, chided her and her daughters. She'd told her that this is a great shame brought upon their family and the community. She'd told her she should disown her, cut her off. She'd called her daughter names, which Amanda had not wanted to listen to, but which she'd had not enough courage to deny either.

Outside the courtroom, she saw Kate. She saw her pleading eyes, requesting her to believe in her, but she ignored her pleadings. She did not even tell her to come home. Instead, she sat in the car and glared at her, until her broken daughter's visage disappeared from her sights. But she did it to teach her daughter a lesson. She had to be strict with her, to make her understand that what she did was wrong and she needed to repent of the sin she committed. Or she would never be able to face the questioning people. Not even Amanda, herself, would be able to face the people, her sister, and their community. This brought a tinge of disappointment in her. A feeling she simply couldn't dispel.

Nevertheless, Kate was her daughter, after all. Her flesh and blood. She could not abandon her. But vanity had gotten the better of her and she didn't have the strength to overcome her stubbornness. Richard called and spoke to Kate. Even Lynn and Julie-Anne consoled Kate, but Amanda did not. She did not know what to say. Her daughter was pleading her mother to speak to her. She had stayed stubborn and refused to talk.

A day later, she finally had started to think rationally. She had to believe her daughter. She knew what they said in the court was not entirely true. She wanted to send her daughter away. Away from the darkness of the academy which was devouring young souls. A girl missing, a girl murdered, a girl deemed crazy and unfit, and her daughter, exposed and berated. Her beautiful, kind, and obedient daughter, was exposed in front of the world to save and acquit a murderer. Despite these thoughts, of believing her daughter, she was stubborn. In the pretense of keeping her daughter safe and way from Arcadia Bay, she was abandoning her.

The blaring ring of the phone broke the eerie silence of the house. Lynn was the first one to get up and run towards the telephone. Richard tilted his head up and pensively looked on as his youngest daughter picked the phone. Amanda moved away from the window, crossed her arms just below her chest and her brows creased together in anticipation.

Lynn picked up the phone, "Hello?"

 _'H-Hello, Lynn'_ she heard a despondent and weak voice from the earpiece.

"Sis!" Lynn tilted her head towards their parents, "Mother, Dad, it's Kate!" she announced. Richard quickly got up from the couch and strode towards the phone.

"How are you, Kate. When are you coming back home?" Lynn asked, her innocent and excited voice held all the adoration she felt for her elder sister.

 _'I…'_ there was a pause, _'Yes… I am fine, thank you, Lynn. Is…is Dad t-there?'_ Kate spoke softly from the other end. Her voice was weak and shaky.

"Yes, he's here. I am passing the phone to him," Lynn replied. "Dad, she wants to talk to you," she said as she handed the phone to her father. Without her realizing, her eyes were already welling up again. Her sister was always cheerful, happy, despite whatever their mother said to them. Whatever mistakes Lynn made, she covered and kept her sisters safe from their mother's reprimanding ire. But today, she felt it too, young and naïve, she herself felt how broken and sad her sister was.

Richard answered, "Hello, Darling. How are you?"

 _'D-Dad…'_ His heart twisted and shattered into hundreds of pieces as he heard his daughter's broken voice. He was a man, a semblance of strength and a will. Yet he was not able to hold a dry airy sob that stubbornly tore through his chest and escaped from the confinement of his mouth.

"Yes, sweetheart, I am here," he said in a tender voice, ignoring the rising emotion that was clotting his throat.

There was a prolonged silence on the other end, which broke with a sob and a sniff, _'Dad, I am sorry, I am so sorry. Please believe me, I did not do that deliberately. I… s-swear on God, I di…'_ Richard clenched on the handle of the phone and gritted his teeth so he would not give in to his emotions. He shook his head furiously.

"No. No, no, Kate, my sweetheart. It's not your fault. I believe you, my baby, I believe your every word. I know they told lies. I know my daughter. You will not do anything to hurt your family." He tried his best to console her distraught daughter. But her broken sobs were twisting and breaking his own resolve.

 _'Dad, I've hurt you, and mother, Lynn, Julie. I shamed everyone. But I didn't mean it. I just wanted to live l-like a nor… a normal teenager and make friends. I didn't want to…'_ Richard could feel Kate's voice was breaking with every word she forced to speak.

"I know, sweetheart, I know. You didn't mean to. It's alright, everything will be fine. I and your mother will come to pick you up from school."

 _'Mother is upset with me, she was right… I humiliated the family name. Because of me, everyone has to bear their questions. I am sorry, Dad. I am so sorry.'_

"It doesn't matter. People will understand. Believe in our Lord, Kate, like you always did. He has plans for us."

 _'I am tired, Dad. I cannot face anyone at the academy. They look at me with disgust and mock at me. I want to get away. I want to go…'_

"Don't worry about them, my child. I'll come and pick you up soon."

 _'Dad, Can I talk to Mother?'_ The hurt and broken girl asked.

"Of course," He covered the mouthpiece with his palm and tilted his head towards his wife, who was attentively looking back at him and listening to the conversation. "Amanda, Kate wants to speak with you."

Amanda's jaw tightened for the moment, but then she averted her eyes. "I have nothing to speak to that girl."

Richard huffed. "Amanda, please stop this. She's our daughter. She needs us. For once, think about your children rather than letting your pride cloud your judgment."

She scoffed back. "Don't even get me started with pride, Richard. Just tell your daughter to pack her bags. She will leave that academy and will be going straight to the relatives. She will not set foot in this house as long as I am here."

Richard's eyebrows arched upwards. He was a considerate man, soft-spoken and kind. But what his wife just said meant she was kicking out her eldest daughter, disowning her. It brought a fiery surge in his body, and it might have been the first time he actually glared at his wife. "You are out of your mind if you think I will let you drag my daughter out of her house, Amanda. She will come back here, she will live here and she will do whatever she wants."

"Fine by me! If you bring her back here and in front of me then I will leave this house and I will be taking Lynn and Julie with me." _'You are wrong, Amanda. Why are you saying this? Kate is your daughter, your precious girl.'_ Her thoughts were the complete contradiction of what she was spitting out of her mouth, but yes, pride and vanity are something Amanda was accustomed to. She wants her daughter to learn. This hardship will make her strong, and a respectable person.

Richard ignored her and turned his attention back to the phone but it was disconnected already. He sighed and placed the phone back in its place and faced his wife. "She disconnected the call. She might have heard everything. Amanda, why are you doing this? Why do you intend to hurt your own daughter when she is so vulnerable?"

"You think I don't care about her well-being? She is my daughter too, Richard, but she has to learn. She has to understand what she did was wrong and sinful. You are blinded by your love for your daughter and you have shut off your ears, but I have to face it. I have to face people. I have to listen to the whispers behind my back. Do you even know? Lynn was bullied because the words are going around."

"Mother, I was not bullied. It's not sis's fault. I fought because they were saying bad things about sis," Lynn tried to justify the actions she had taken at school when one of her fellow student, also a member of her community church, had started badmouthing Kate. Lynn tried her best to stay calm but when the girl called her sister a sinner and a harlot. She couldn't bear it and slapped the girl, starting a fight. Her mother was called and Lynn was reprimanded for it.

"Do not speak when adults are talking, Lynn. Go to your room," Amanda reprimanded her youngest daughter.

"I will not. I want my sister." Lynn clenched her hands into small balls of fists and tried to match her mother's glare but she couldn't. She averted her eyes, and spoke pleadingly this time, "Please, mother."

"I SAID GO TO YOUR ROOM LYNN MARSH!" Amanda shouted at the young girl, who shrunk at her mother's furious voice and her shoulders slumped. Tears began pricking in her eyes yet again. She lost the count how many times she has cried. She dragged her feet as she slowly climbed the stairs and went back to her room. Even though the closed doors, she could clearly hear the muffled argument that was still going on. She sat on her bed, with her hands joined together on her lap, tears flowing like a river. She was young. She couldn't comprehend the things that were affecting her family. She did not know who to fault. All in her head were the thoughts of her sister. She wanted to see her.

* * *

 **Marsh Residence**

 **October 7th, 2018, 01:52 am**

Lynn shrank further in, the moonlight that was seeping through the blinds was reflecting in her glistening eyes. Tears were running over the bridge of her nose, wetting the bed cover, but she couldn't help it. She didn't have the energy to wipe her eyes. She tried to block the onslaught of past memories, and the things that kept rearing in her head. Memories she wanted to forget. Memories that haunted her to this day. That made her want to tear everything around her into pieces. So, she muffled her mouth and screamed, screamed till her lungs gave out, but the dreaded memories kept emerging. She was weak to fight them as the sickening dark engulfed her whole.

* * *

 **Blackwell Academy**

 **October 12th, 2013, 13:45 PM**

Richard parked the car in the Blackwell parking lot and turned off the engine. He turned his head to his side to look at his daughter who had her head rested on the glass window, looking out with deep pensive eyes. He sighed and placed his hand on her head, running through her striking blonde hair softly. Lynn lifted her head up and opened the car door, without even looking at her father. The argument earlier had disturbed the young girl so much that she was not even able to look at him, let alone speak to him. It was the first time she saw her father so angry. In the end, her mother didn't come. Getting out of the car, she started to walk fast, almost running. She was anxious, almost jumpy. She wanted to see her sister.

They passed by the gym building, all the way across the main campus, to the opposite side. Lynn anxiously glanced at the towering campus building. Her brows knitted together and fists clenched. This place, she thought, this place had brought only hurt and hardship for her sister. She still remembered the day Kate was excited to be accepted in Blackwell Academy for her fine arts studies, despite her mother's protests. Her father had been somehow, able to convince her mother. And Kate joined the academy just this September as a senior student.

Ignoring the rising bile and the erratic thoughts in her mind, Lynn increased her pace. She stopped in her tracks along with her father when they saw an ambulance and a police car parked in front of the campus. All of a sudden, Lynn felt a dread and her heart started to race, pounding faster every second. Blackwell Academy has already taken upon a reputation of an unsafe environment in the eyes of most of the Arcadia Bay locals. The presence of ambulance and police car meant something might have happened again. She tilted her head and looked at her father, but saw only fear in the kind man's eyes and it didn't take much time to transmit the same fear in Lynn.

Before even fully comprehending the situation, Lynn was already running towards the dorm building. Pushing through the crowded pavement. They finally reached the dorm entrance. Lynn could hear whispers by the entrance, but she didn't stop or wait for anyone. She pushed through the entrance doors. She remembered Kate's dorm room was on the second floor, room 222. She quickly ascended the stairs. Her father caught up with her near the entrance, heaving, and panting. The door to the hallway was blocked by students, murmuring, whispering, and gasping. They both stopped, more like were frozen, as they heard the heart-breaking weeping of a girl.

The dread Lynn was facing and trying to ignore was becoming a reality. She was smaller in height, so she pushed through the crowd, dodging, being bumped. But she finally managed to pass through the sea of students. The hallway was full of academy staff and a couple of police officers, trying to keep the students at bay. Her feet were planted on the floor. She tried to move but felt like invisible hands are holding her legs. She was 10, yet she was feeling so old and brittle, almost on the verge of crumbling, turning to dust.

Her eyes were on the girl who has fallen on the floor holding her chest, crying so hard that Lynn felt her own heart was tearing out of her chest. The naivety of her age was gone. She understood. She knew the room, she heard of the girl. She was her sister's best friend in the academy. A short brunette, kind and friendly and Kate's very first friend outside the community, Max Caulfield.

Why was she crying? Lynn thought. Why was she crying in front of her sister's room? Why was nobody helping her up? Why were all the people looking stressed and busy? Where was her sister? Why Lynn's own body was not moving? Lots of thoughts in her head. But one, which was the loudest, telling her that she had to move. Had to take a step, had to find out. She was in a turmoil. A turmoil of emotions. She was feeling many things and at the same time, she was feeling nothing but a numbness. The 10-year-old girl's heart was breaking. But she had to move.

So, the young girl pushed her young body, but her bones were feeling elastic and weak, like melting. Her skin was pulsing, a throb in her chest was beating so fast that she felt everything inside her body would come out. She moved, she got closer. One step, another, and she stopped. She tilted her head at the crying girl, but there as another one with her now. A taller brunette, who was hugging the girl tight and a policewoman trying to console the crying girl. The taller girl's eyes seemed empty like she had witnessed something horrific and been traumatized by that.

She felt someone tried to hold her, but she yanked herself loose. Someone was telling her not to look. But she did not heed it. She turned around to face the entrance of the room. At that moment, she felt a numbness engulfed her. She was frozen, couldn't even twitch. She couldn't pry her eyes away from the scene. She could not blink. Her eyes were stinging. Blood was all she saw. An arm dangling from the bed, a slashed wrist, streams of red that had marched through her palm to those curved fingers and ended up on the carpeted floor.

"Aaa….aaaAA….AAAHHHH!" she cried. "AAAAH! AAAHH!" the young girl screamed. She was on the floor, but she felt the ground was pulling her in, she was sinking. She was in a horror. She left her body and all of it was filled with despair, coming out as screams. Agonizing, painful and heart rendering screams. She was drowning in an abyss. She called for help. She tried to call for her sister, but her voice came out only a raw audible emotion. Words were broken and took over by agonizing screams. She almost fell, when two strong arms grabbed her. She was saved, but her body thrashed and struggled amidst the despair she was in. It was thrashing, kicking, screaming, biting, crying. Tears of every emotion she could muster, all of it were spilling from her eyes to match all the agonizing feeling she was being thrashed in.

And then, she felt nothing.

* * *

 **Marsh Residence**

 **October 7th, 2018, 07:48 am**

She screamed and sat up. Heaving, her lungs were burning. Sweat was showering all of her anxiety out of her body. Her body shivered and her jaw rattled and she was gasping for breaths. She tried to calm herself down. She clenched her fists tight and brought her arm near her mouth and bit on it. She clenched her teeth down until all of the pain in her heart had transferred to the clamped chunk of meat. Short on air, she breathed through her nose. She focused on the pain in her arm. Her nerves were coming back. Her lungs started working. Her hands and legs stopped shivering.

She let go of her arm, the teeth marks were already making that clump dark tints of red and purple, but she breathed. Slowly, steadily. Her ears were still thumping, but she could control her body, so she shifted, tried to move. A prolapse of shiver ran rampant one more time but she jerked it off. As soon as the feeling in her limbs almost returned. She grabbed the water bottle next to her bed. Tearing the cap, she chugged water like she had been thirsty for years. She coughed and hacked as the final spasms of her attack were subsided. She held her breath for a few seconds and exhaled in a whistling blow. A few more, and she was calm. Almost.

"Lynn! Lynn, open the door!" Her mother screamed, she bared her teeth into a sneer and groaned. As if her panic attack had not been enough to exhaust her, now her mother, the She-Devil, wanted to devour her. _'Once awoken by a panic, here comes the mommy manic. I am so glum. Meh!'_ She mopped her raven emo long hair, with the fringes which were painted in neon blues. She fell back on her bed and sprayed her arms long. The door kept banging until it stopped. She sighed contentedly. 'Finally!' She closed her eyes and giggled like a maniac herself. Her mirthful moment was washed away when she heard her father's, Richard's voice.

"Lynn, open the door," She was stiffened. Frozen. She would've had another lapse, had she not held fast to her senses. She quickly got up and opened the door. But what awaited her was not a proud, kind, strong and loving father. All she saw was a hunched man with a rugged beard, unkempt hair and drags like clothes. She only saw a defeated, trampled, decayed old man, with wrinkled and dry skin. Eyes, hollowed out, with not a single semblance of the proud and upright man, Richard Marsh was.

"Lynn, listen to what your mother says." His husky under the throat voice was like a rattling croak. It was not the voice of a preacher, a pious man. A soft-spoken, kind father who used to tell her stories when she was a twinkly little girl. All she heard was a despairing and agonized croak of a living yet dead man. She fought with her mother, she didn't answer the door, all of it, she did to spite him. She wanted her father to be angry, to hit her, to scream, yell. Take all the emotions, all the rage, all the agony, he had inside her. She wanted to sacrifice her own body for it. If she was to be hit she would have let him. Anything. She would do anything to bring him out the despair he was in for five years. But alas! It did not work. She saw the man descending the stairs, still hunched. His posture was even lower than yesterday. Yes, another day he added into keep holding the horror and the emotions which he had locked away from every living being in the whole universe.

Five years. Five years and the man, her father, blamed himself for the death of her sister, Kate. He had been shattered, and never become whole again. He blamed himself, he blamed his incompetence. He blamed his blindness. He just blamed. She had to see it all, but it also meant she was seeing nothing in that man. She only saw a husk, who once was Richard Marsh.

As soon as her mother entered the room, blocking Lynn's view, her father already descended the stairs and went to his room. Her eyes flickered with a raw emotion of hurt and disappointment, but then it started a fire in them. A glare, a menacing glare that could melt a person into a smoldering pile of nothing. This time, however, it was a reminder, something she did not want to forget but was temporary wavered off. Her thoughts were clear. Her senses were with her, and she thought as she clenched her fists and her black painted nails dug into her palms. She screamed in her head, 'PRESSCOTS!'

* * *

 **AN: Back, with another chapter. So, Lynn Marsh. Judging from the previous chapter and this, you've already gotten the idea of what happened in this AU-esque, diverged post-bay. I wanted to shed some light on the aftermath of the game, with a tragic twist. Max sacrificed Chloe to save the town and get Jeffoshit and Nathan arrested, but she did not expect how corrupt and rotten the judicial system was in Arcadia Bay.**

 **I also wanted to write about the lives of the Marshes, how Kate's suicide has affected each and every member of the Marsh family. Mostly, Lynn as she blames her mother and the Prescotts for Kate's death. She is hell-bent on revenge but how will she succeed. Does she even stand a chance against a powerful family who has authorities of the town in their pockets? Find out more in future chapters.**

 **Please leave your thoughts what do you think about this chapter.**


	3. Sinner's Fraternity

**The Mitz-Sheldon, San Francisco, California, 2018**

 **Saturday, October 6th, 6:25 pm**

"Hurry up with this thing already, Larry. The opening ceremony will start anytime now." The cameraman jolted and muttered a curse. He tilted his head and frowned at the young chirpy reporter in annoyance.

"And whose fault do you think it is? I told you we were going to be late." His voice carried an ire which made the reporter pout at the cameraman who ignored the woman and went back on checking the cables. Satisfied, he got up, dusting his hands and turned around facing the reporter, "All ready now. I don't know why Bennet always gives us assignments to these posh parties. Larry, go with Denise to cover this. Larry, forget the football game, give me some spicy news. I feel like a fucking tabloid paparazzi." He ground his teeth as a frustration seeped into his tone.

"Oh, God! Don't start this again, Larry, please. Anyways, how do I look?" The chirpy reporter ran her hand over the curve of her waist and looked at the cameraman inquiringly as she grinned waiting for Larry to comment.

The cameraman rolled his eyes and huffed annoyingly, "You look fabulous, Denise, even better than Victoria Chase herself. Now, can we get back to work?"

Denise's brows creased at the annoyed reply of the cameraman and her cheeks puffed, "Would it kill you to say nice things about your own sister for once, Larry?"

"Dina, remember what Bennet said. We have to get answers or it will be our jobs."

"Don't worry, I will use my charms to get an exclusive from Mark Jefferson himself." The confident reporter's bubbly demeanor returned as she brushed her palms together in anticipation.

"But why are we even here? It's not even such a big scene but just a haughty self-promotion by these rich people. We should be covering real news. Not this pompous bullshit." Larry glanced sideways at his sister as he turned on the camera and start prodding through the settings on the on-screen display.

Denise clicked her tongue, placed her hand on her taller brother's shoulder and shook her head, "You have a lot to learn, young Padawan. who cares about the photo exhibition. This is our chance to get something on that Blackwell shooting case from five years ago. If we can get anything on Nathan Prescott, it will be a straight ladder up for promotion. You, once and for all, will not have to moan and goad about rents." Her lips split into a confident grin as her eyes glitter.

Larry shrugged the reporter's hand off "Whatever, just be careful with your words, and don't be aggressive, Dina. Interview or not, I really don't like these Prescotts." Larry couldn't help but feel an ire for the famed Prescotts and his annoyance was further insinuated with his sunken brows. Though he had no choice but to follow the obsession of his sister, Denise Carter, had for years, following the Blackwell shooting case that claimed the life of an Arcadia Bay local girl, Chloe Price, 19.

Denise was young at that time, and still was having her masters in journalism. The Prescotts were one of the prominent family in the Oregon region. So, the case was kept on a tight leash by media and reporters alike. Even though the shooting was claimed as an accident in self-defense and was reported as such, it never settled with the siblings. Even a small child would have known that everything that was said and recorded in the courtroom was a convenient lie and fabricated to acquit Nathan Prescott from murder charges. What kept Denise to keep the track of the case was the aftermath of the case, when the prime witness who was present at the time of the shooting, Max Caulfield vanished a few months after the hearing and Denise couldn't help but felt there was a connection to the case. Unfortunately, the young girl was never found and presumed dead after a year of searching in vain.

Denise was snapped out of her thoughts as she felt a pat on her shoulder, she abruptly looked up. Larry bobbed his chin behind her, which made the young reporter glance back. Her sable pupils dilated, and she turned her head quickly back to Larry, who also nodded in affirmation. The auburn-haired reporter grinned again and fixed her dress and tugged her denim jacket and took quick strides towards the subject of her interest, Mark Jefferson.

"Excuse me, Mr. Jefferson." She addressed the tall and handsome host of the exhibition, who turned around and smiled at the reporter. She quickly extended her hand, "Hi, Denise Carter, SF Herald." She introduced herself with an eloquent smile on her face. Jefferson shook her hand albeit limply with a clear lack of interest. Denise perceiving this, quickly tried to strike a conversation, "Mr. Jefferson, I am such a huge fan of your work, and have been following your blog, Monochroma. Your photography, it's so different, you really bring out the characters in your models, the sensuality feels so alive. I am curious how do you do this? What is your secret?" She readied her pocket pad and pen.

Jefferson's brows arched for a moment and a smile dangled on the corner of his lips, "Wow, you really did your homework, Ms. Carter, was it?" His stiff shoulders eased and his eyes flashed

"Denise, please call me Denise. Like I mentioned, I am a huge fan of your work and consider you as one of my heroes and honestly, it feels odd to be addressed so formally."

"Denise, I don't mind you interviewing me, but would you mind walking with me. I have to see through the preparations."

Denise nodded eagerly, "I'd be happy to."

Jefferson shed a toothy smile, and subtly placed his hand on the young reporter's back and started walking, "So what was your question again?"

"Your photographs, what is the secret of your technique, the photos you take, they don't feel staged. My observation gave me a vibe of more candid approach."

"Ah, yes. Perhaps my photographs really are candid photos, Denise?" Denise titled her head up, and looked him in his eyes behind his white framed glasses, trying to understand his remark. Jefferson chuckled and shook his head, "I am jesting. you could say, years of practice and studying technique brought me close to perfect my art. Take it this way, I don't see my models just as models but as characters in a play I staged. We talk about things, I ask them about their interests without any professional interferences. So, they feel at ease and do not think to model as part of their job. I definitely cannot tell you everything, that would be my trade secret." He stopped in his tracks by the stage and inspected the podium. Several canvases draped and obscured behind blue velvet cloth. Satisfied, he turned his attention back to the reporter, "You are quite beautiful, Ms. Carter. Have you considered changing careers to modeling?" His eyes flickered in observation towards the young girl and his lips stretched into a suave smile.

Denise chuckled nervously as she felt a heat rise in her cheeks, "Aw, Mr. Jefferson, you really do jest. I consider myself average and surely not a model but I am flattered. So, moving on. Can you tell me more about this exhibition?" She tried to avert his attention from her as a giddy feeling inside her made her curious and happy that Mark Jefferson praising her as beautiful and a model. Her professional curiosity took the upper hand. Then again, she couldn't help but observe a hint of change in Jefferson's demeanor as his eyebrows clashed together for a moment and his expressions flickered between disappointment and back to urbane in a fraction of the time. He cleared his throat.

"Certainly," He put his hand in his pocket and fixed his glasses over the bridge of his nose, "Victoria and Nathan have been under my tutorage for last 6 years. They have very exceptional skills when it comes to photography, and I couldn't be prouder that they both found their own styles which I merely helped them polish, and I thought it was time to expose them to the professional scene of photography and observe how far they can get. This exhibition is a showcase of what they have been doing in these past years and their doorway to propel their careers and into the spotlight they deserve. But I must include, I will be involved in their professional career but only as an observant, as I want them to compete with their peers and their skills accessed fairly."

Denise felt it was her chance to get to the real question she had been itching to ask, "If my memory serves me correctly, Ms. Chase has garnered quite some achievements in her academic years under your supervision, especially The Everyday Hero Contest in 2013, albeit some hurdles in those years. Although, Mr. Prescott, Nathan, do you think he will face scrutiny judging from the scandal he was involved in Blackwell shooting case?"

For the first time, Jefferson was taken aback, his jaw tightened and his shoulders stiffened, and there was a hint of agitation in his voice, "I'd suggest we should conclude this interview here, Ms. Carter."

Denise chided herself inwardly for her haste and quickly tried to drive "I am sorry, I did not mean to disrupt your mood, Mr. Jefferson. I do look forward to both Ms. Chase and Mr. Prescott's careers propelled as they both are your students, one of my personal heroes in the professional photography world. But it is my professional curiosity as a journalist, I wanted to ask your opinion on this as the case from 2013 was quite scandalized and was thought unfair and biased."

"Scandals follow people with status and prestige, Ms. Carter and I do have to be blunt but it is you reporters who capitalize and falsely report without any knowledge or lack of empathy towards a person who could easily have been the person shot dead. I've known Nathan since he was a teenager. He's hardworking, honest, and a very friendly person. What happened in Blackwell was one drug addict junkie tried to harass him and extort money from him. It was she who threatened him with a gun and Nathan tried to defend himself. A scuffle ensued, resulting in the gun going off and her being shot. Nathan was clearly the victim in all of that and we believed in the justice system. The facts and the evidence were stacked against Chloe Price. It is sad that such a young girl fell into a bad habit of drugs and resorted to thievery and extortion to appease her needs. But because Nathan belonged to a well-off and respected family, it was easy to put the blame on him. Albeit, justice prevailed and the truth was laid out there. If I must, I will defend Nathan on every platform, not because he was my student, or I have personal ties to his family. But as an adult, as a teacher and as a human being who has compassion for an innocent young man being defamed and dragged into a scandal for your ratings and TRP. I hope this has fulfilled your curiosity, Ms. Carter. Please enjoy the exhibition and do your job as such."

But the reporter was not giving up easily, "One last question Mr. Jefferson, please, if you don't mind," Denise added a little bit imploration in her tone, to which Jefferson stopped in his tracks and faced the reporter. The reporter felt an inner glee and quickly chased the question, "What are your comments on the disappearance of Maxine Caulfield?"

Denise observed a change in the calm and collected photographer, more so as his voice came out tout and annoyed, "It is sad that the events that happened had an impact on Maxine's mental condition and as unpleasant and tragic it sounds, it won't be a surprise that her disappearance would have led to her committing suicide. Such a great loss of potential." He said while shaking his head.

Denise opened her mouth to say something, but Jefferson lifted his palm up to stop her from speaking, "That is all the time I can give you, Ms. Carter. I have nothing more to fuel your curiosity. Please enjoy the exhibition and do your job as instructed in the press release. Good Night." He said as he left the reporter. Denise, knowing she will not get any more answers from Jefferson at the moment, noted down a few things and walked towards her brother.

"Well?" Larry asked curiously, which prompted the reporter to shake her head in annoyance, "Figures," continued the cameraman, "Asking them or their associates will get you nowhere, Dina." The reporter said nothing but hummed as a reply. Somewhere deep in her mind, she couldn't help but felt there was more to the story of the shooting and the subsequent events.

The suicide of Kate Marsh and the disappearance of Maxine Caulfield, all those events had a connection to it. Also, the change in Jefferson's demeanor when Denise mentioned the missing girl's name, piqued the investigative reporter's curiosity. _'I'll find out whatever you are hiding, Mr. Jefferson.'_ She thought determinedly.

* * *

Jefferson left the reporter in the atrium and walked towards the VIP reserved room. A bulking guard clad in all black was at the door with his hands clasped on his front. Jefferson whispered something in his ear to which the guard nodded and raised his hand speaking almost inaudible on the hidden mic attached to the cuffs of his suit.

The suave photographer entered the VIP room and was about to speak when the other occupant on the phone raised his finger to stop him from speaking. Jefferson huffed annoyingly and sat on a luxurious cushioned sofa in front of the person. The other occupant continued his conversation on the phone.

"Mr. Pendleton, I would suggest you choose your words wisely. You wouldn't want to find yourself in a position that might hurt your reputation and your family's wellbeing." He ran his finger on the surface of an elaborately designed paperweight that was sitting on the table. He chuckled and continued, "No, I am not threatening you, Mr. Pendleton. I am reminding you that you are speaking to Sean Prescott, and you wouldn't want to make an enemy of the Prescotts." He stopped yet again and leaned back with a triumphant grin on his face, "Wise choice, Jeremiah. I will give you one week. After that, I cannot guarantee your or your family's safety. Have a good night." Sean disconnected the phone and sighed, "Useless fool." He muttered and faced Jefferson, "How is the preparation going?"

"Almost done," Jefferson replied but his voice carried an air of unease as he fixed his glasses. "But…"

"But?" Sean asked with an inquiring tone.

"A nosey reporter was asking too many questions," He answered with a subtle annoyance in his voice.

"What questions?" The Prescott patriarch asked the photographer as he picked the paperweight in his hand and started to fiddle with it with a lack of interest.

"About the shooting case that inept screw-up son of yours, Nathan got himself into," Jefferson replied.

"I would watch my mouth if I were you, Mark," Sean leaned in from his chair, "Don't forget you are talking about the heir of the Prescotts." Sean's voice contained a malice which made the photographer tighten his jaw and avert his eyes. "And? Did I not leave Nathan to you to look after? Why do you think that incident happen. From my perspective, you are a failure and the inept one when you cannot control a teenager's needs to lust for a girl."

"Do not put that on me, Sean. I did not overdose Rachel Amber, and I did not shoot Chloe price. If any, you should be glad I was the one to find Nathan and silenced him before the Blackwell security or the police caught up with him." Jefferson replied in equally defiant and annoyed voice.

"To save your own skin." Sean said flatly, "If I knew you were using my son, _MY HEIR,_ for your perverse hobby. I would've made you disappear without a trace." Again the malevolence in his voice returned, "So, I'd advise you should understand your position and the debt you are in. Do not forget it cost me a fortune to get Nathan and you out of that case. So much that it has affected my project in that wretched town."

Jefferson couldn't counter Sean this time, so he just sat there, grinding his teeth. Sean seeing this, chuckled as he got up from his chair, "Remember, Mark. You will always be indebted to me. You need me. You will do as I tell you or…" Sean paused for a bit, "…you have too much to lose."

Jefferson's eyes went wide in disbelief for a second but then he clenched his fist and nodded in submission, "I understand, Mr. Prescott. I will be careful."

"Good." Sean nodded, "Now, tell me, have Nathan and Victoria arrived yet?" The patriarch inquired as he walked towards the table at the side of the room. He picked a wine bottle and poured the striking red liquid in the glass.

"Not yet. Though I spoke with them, Victoria mentioned they'll be on time." Jefferson affirmed as his eyes followed Sean who went back to his cozy seat and took a sip of his wine. "Sean, I am trying to understand something here." The photographer asked.

"About what?" Sean responded with a question of his own.

"I know you are not interested in Nathan's career as a photographer, let alone Victoria's. What is the point of this exhibition? Why bother with all of this, illustrious display?" The curiosity was evident in Jefferson's voice. Even though he was an elaborate and cunning man. But even he failed to understand why Sean wanted him to organize an exhibition and on photography in which he never showed any interest in.

Sean took another sip of the wine and nodded in affirmation, "You are right, I am not interested in this thing. For me, it's just a bothersome distraction for that son of mine."

Jefferson's brows creased as he asked confusingly, "Then why?"

"I assume you didn't bother to go through the guests' list." Sean leaned in with his hands joined and index fingers over his lips, as he observed Jefferson. The photographer showed a hint of annoyance on his patron's insinuation but opted not to answer. Sean's lips twitched and the edge stretched up, smirking at Jefferson, "Mark… Mark, you really should act your age. Your aloofness has gotten you nowhere in your life. When will you understand, you are irrelevant to people now. So, show some responsibility if you want to benefit working under me." His words contained a sharp abhorrence and mockery, much to the displeasure of the photographer.

"Very well, I guess I should catechize you so you can be of use for me unless you want to spend rest of your life babysitting. I am a businessman, Mark, and whatever I do, must be commodious for the accretion of my legacy. I have used this opportunity to invite some influential people whom I need if I want to bring my project to fruition." Sean elaborated, "And, I want you to cater those people and do your utmost best to impress them enough to stay in the event until I say so. Should I trust you with this task, or is it too much of a hassle for the limited capacity of your abilities?"

Jefferson was literally grinding his teeth for being constantly berated by the patriarch of the Prescott Empire, yet the man in front of him was influential enough to legitimize his boastings. So, the photographer had no choice but to swallow his waning pride and nodded at him, "I understand, Mr. Prescott. I'll go through the VIP list again and make sure your guests are comfortable." After a short pause, he continued, "Sean, if I may ask. Why is this project so important to you. The town is nothing but a dried out fossil. How would this one project benefit you that you have to organize this venue and need those people for your project."

"You are too curious for your own benefit, Mark. Asking too much is not good for your health. You should get ready for the opening speech and cater to the guests. I will join you shortly."

Yet again, Jefferson couldn't help but feel an annoyance the way Sean Prescott addressed him, but he knew it was futile to understand what went through the calculating mind of the Prescott patriarch. So, he nodded, "Very well," He bid him and walked out of the room. _'Bastard'_ the thought rang in his head.

* * *

 **Saturday, October 6th, 7:09 pm**

Max maneuvered her car slowly halting in front of the hotel. A valet opened the door for her and greeted her. Getting her ticket and tipping the valet, she entered the hotel. Her burgundy V-neck ruched dress insinuated her curves by hugging her body and shimmered subtly as she walked in being welcomed by floor staff. Her platinum locks styled in a messy French twist was giving an air of elegance. But the contrast of her elegant appearance, her eyes were searching for something as she scanned the venue with furtive glances. _'Don't rush, Max. Remember why you are here.'_

With that thought, she indulged herself in observing the canvases that were on display. The lost photographer inside her brought a melancholic thought in her head. How different her life would've been if that week never happened. Where would she be?. Before she could ponder herself more into this despondent remembrance of her past life, her attention was drawn to one of the photographs. It was a black and white photo of a butterfly resting on a broken glass and the cracks on the glass was giving a sense of spider webs, as if the butterfly was caught up in an intangible prison of webbings.

Max's jaw tightened as a seething hatred for the photo seeped in her thoughts, _'You really like it, don't you, Max?'_ Max heard a familiar voice in her head. _'You bet. See, how she's itching to take a photo right now.' 'C'mon, Max. I'll pose for you. Take the SHOT, hippie. Right on my chest.'_

Assaulted by the voices in her head, Max moved from that photo to the next one. This one was a bit warmer, it was taken from a shoulder perspective of a young girl gazing at the wide meadows. The golden hour's sun was blaring in front of her, casting a shadow on the girl's back, leaving only hints of a gold outline. But somehow, the photograph looked sad as Max noticed the young girl was sitting in a wheelchair. Another pang of sadness hit Max, as she recalled the messed up timeline she created. That resulted in Chloe being crippled and bound to a wheelchair. _'You thought you were God, playing with time.' 'How did it felt when you snuffed Chloe's life, Max.'_ _'I bet you were ecstatic, freeing yourself from a burden.'_ _'You are a cold-hearted murderer.'_

Somehow, the voices from her dreams, the accusatory and spiteful voices were invading Max's conscience. She tried to understand if it was her own doing, Her survivor's guilt punishing her by tormenting her with voices that reminded her that she should have died along with her loved ones. Yet, here she was. A completely different person. Surviving each tormenting day. Bearing the onslaught of accusations. But every day increased the burden of the guilt in her conscience.

She was deep in her thoughts, looking on at the photograph absentmindedly until her attention was taken away by the voice behind her. For a second, she felt a shiver down her spine but she quickly composed herself.

"Beautiful composition. Don't you think?" Max glanced over her shoulder to look at the owner of the voice, and again, hundreds of emotions grew inside her, but hatred and rage were on the top of them. Yet, she had learned to mask any sort of emotions, that was part of who she was now.

An urbane smile grew on her face as she turned her attention back to the painting, trying not to show any emotions to the person, while speaking in a soft and smooth voice, "Yes, certainly is."

"Victoria certainly understands the art and composition of photography. After all, she was under my tutorage." Max could feel the ever-present egoistic pride in his voice, "Oh, where are my manners. I am Mark Jefferson, a pleasure to meet you…" Jefferson stretched his hand forward with a smile on his face.

"Alice… Alice Carlson," Max introduced herself. _'How do you feel, meeting your idol, Max'_ _'Look at her, wagging her tail for the pervert.' 'I bet she would love to be photographed by him again.' 'Come on, Maxi, why don't you tell him already,' 'No, she should kill him' 'Yeah, kill him, Max.' 'Kill him.' 'Murder him!'_

"Are you alright, Ms. Carlson, you look pale," Jefferson asked with a hint of worry in his voice.

Max snapped away from the depth of the poisonous miasma she was being swallowed into. She shook her head slightly and smiled eloquently towards the has-been photographer, "I am fine, Thank you. Just a bit under the weather since earlier."

Jefferson's eyebrows arched a bit and his hand hovered around Max's back, and other arm guiding her towards the sitting area, "Perhaps you'd like to have a seat. I'd call a butler to serve you some refreshments to rejuvenate."

"That would be wonderful, Mr. Jefferson. I guess the weather here in San Francisco does not bode well with my constitution," She let out a small chuckle as she walked alongside Jefferson.

"I couldn't agree any less, Ms. Carlson." He guided Max to one of the elegant and comfortable sofas with a glass table decorated with a bunch of beautiful white lilies in a thin curvy ceramic vase. "Please, make yourself comfortable here. I'll take but a moment away to get someone to cater you." He left Max and walked away.

 _'Ooooh,'_ cooed the voice in her head _'Look at the perverted old man trying to impress you, Max.' 'Oh, Come on! Max is too dense to be impressed by anyone unless they are a killer' 'Are you guys fucking me. She would crawl to anyone who'd give her attention.'_

Max felt a vice gripping her head which made her grit her teeth. Through the pain, she pleaded to the voices, _'Please, leave me alone.'_ She said, but all she heard was a mix of sadistic laughter from them. Maybe, it was him. Maybe, because she was close to the source of her suffering. The contempt inside her was bubbling. She wanted to rip the mask off her face and rip him to pieces if it gave her even a moment of calm. But she had to endure it, it was not the time. This would have been too easy for him. He had to suffer. He had to suffer the same way he made her suffer. Him, The Prescotts, Victoria, all of them had to feel the despair they put her through. They had to feel the same loss they made her feel.

Deep in the spiral of hatred, she didn't realize Jefferson had returned with a server along with him. "I apologize for the dallying." He said, but it was enough to once again bring Max back to the fake reality, and she only replied him with a swift smile which disappeared the same as it appeared on her lips. Jefferson gestured the waiter as he placed a tall glass filled with a cocktail mixed with some fruits, "Pear and Pomegranate Bellini, Ms. Carlson. I hope it will help you feel a bit better as I've heard it works like marvel if you are feeling debilitated. Please enjoy." He implored as he gestured towards the drink with his palm and then joined his hand together as if in anticipation.

Max bobbed her head slightly and picked the glass, bringing it closer to her lips and taking a sip. The cocktail was indeed delicious and instantly soothed her ringing nerves, and she let out an instinctive hum. _'Make sure it's not roofied, Max.' 'I bet it is, he has a history of drugging girls.' 'Aw, she's drinking it. RIP Max Caulfield. Next photo session, anytime now.'_

Ignoring the voices this time, she tilted her head towards Jefferson and smiled at him, "Thank you, it is really pleasant."

The photographer's lips stretched wide in glee, "I am glad." He continued, "I apologize as I have to tend to other guests as such is the duty of the organizer. I hope you feel better and enjoy the exhibition." He said before bowing slightly and walking away.

Max stayed seated for a few good minutes, observing the venue as a mix of voices from the crowd of guests murmured around her. Some observing the canvas as intended for the exhibition. But, for the rest, it was an opportunity for a pompous socializing, huddled in circles with their lavish outfits. But one could guess it was foreseeable as the venue was organized by the prestigious Prescotts and almost everyone wanted to bask under the patronage of them. Max felt a revulsion on the fake smiles plastered on their faces. Maybe it was her experience and the intuitions that she could easily see through the masks they wore, yet unable to hide the condescension they were leaking.

All of a sudden, the murmuring got louder, and a crowd of reporters, photographers and guests alike rushed towards the entry. Max's eyes followed them and through the crowd her eyes fell on a couple, dressed equally in the extravagant ensemble. But unlike the bees like drones of the other guests, doing their best to get close to the couple and have an opportunity to shake their hands, all Max felt was a repulse. A surge of fiery chill coursed through her veins, making her ears thump. It burned her insides so much that she felt she was about to melt. _'Nathan!'_

Nathan Prescott, the heir of one of the most influential and powerful families. Max observed him from the distance and despite her blood boiling in her veins, despite the torturous rage inside her that was burning her, she felt a glee, even close to ecstasy. Nothing was changed, there he was, the same eyes, full of skittish contempt. The scornful frown which he was trying his best to hide in the guise of a flat expression. Sure, his physical appearance has changed, his once swept back hair was shorter, his clean baby like facial features was hidden behind an unkempt, almost messy beard. But, he couldn't fake his eyes. The ever so edgy eyes, not staying in the same place for more than a few seconds. His body language was showing the same jumpiness.

It dawned on Max that all of this exhibition, this charade, it must have been forced on to him. She was glad nothing has changed. She didn't want him to change. She wanted to see the same person who shot her best friend in front of her eyes. And, oh, was she not glad. Her resolve steeled even more. She hated him more than Jefferson. More than Sean. That one phone call meant nothing. There was no salvation for him, not from Max at least. The ashen-haired girl did her best to not give in to the impulse to walk to him and rip his guts. Not give in to the tempting sadistic glee she would feel when she would bathe her hands in his blood, to look at the horror on his face. She strengthened herself. Planted her feet on the ground. His time will come.

Despite the firm resolve, she felt she was suffocating in their presence. The Prescotts, Chase, and him. She grabbed her unfinished drink and stood up and glanced one more look at the couple swarmed by masses. She scoffed internally and walked towards the open terrace area of the exhibition hall. Walking out, she was welcomed by a calm yet slightly cold autumn wind. But, it was enough for her to soothe her unnerved mind. She walked towards the railing and placed her clutch on the nearest table. Taking slow sips of the drink Jefferson offered her, she observed the city from the height. Numerous lights and moving cars, creating a visage of a lively city, dense, busy, and full of life. Max had always been a dreamer, she perceived things differently than other people. She saw a thing and imagine it as a different thing. Take the city, for instance, all the lights spreading over the dark of the night. To her, it looked like numerous stars spread over the cityscape, some pacing and moving towards a destination.

Instinctively, she lifted her hand and tried to grab the air as if to hold one of those tiny stars. Yet, all she felt was empty air. Reminiscing the last four years she had been living, hidden and dead for the world as Max Caulfield, yet living with a false identity only for a purpose. _'Do I really have a place in this world anymore?'_ She thought to herself. _'Will I ever be able to go back to my life?'_

 _'You do not deserve to have a place in this world, Max.'_ As if the voices in her head were waiting for their chance to torment her, _'You only bring ruin to people's life. You are a blight.' 'You know, you should just kill yourself.' 'Yeah, kill yourself, Max.' 'Die, Die, Die!'_

For a moment, Max felt complying with the voices, as she leaned closer to the railing. Just one push, one leap and it will all be over. Everything will be over. She would be free of this tormented burden. Her heart was thumping really fast. Her palms were sweating inside her gloved hands. Legs weak, she felt her strength and her resolve was wavering. She wanted peace. She wanted to be free.

Her trance was broken by a cluttering sound followed by a thud behind her. Shaken from her daze, she quickly steadied herself and turned around to see a young girl was on the floor, a pad and a pencil had fallen next to her. The little girl was struggling to gather her things. It was not until the moment Max saw the wheelchair that girl had fallen from. She gasped and quickly rushed towards the young girl.

"Oh my god, are you alright?" She asked the girl as she helped her up and sat her in the wheelchair. She gathered her pad and drawing utensils and handed them back to the girl.

The young girl replied with a solemn smile as she took the stuff from Max and muttered, "I'm fine, thank you. Sorry about that."

Max smiled back at the girl and shook her head slightly, "It's alright. I am glad you're not hurt." Max glanced at the drawing pad the girl held and a sad thought hit her. It reminded her of Kate. A hurtful and sad expression fell on her face, which the younger girl perceived.

"Are you okay?" The girl asked, which brought Max back from the hurtful reminiscent.

Max shook her head softly and again smiled again, "Oh, I am okay. Don't worry." She said as she got up and walked towards the nearest chair and sat down. The girl followed her with her remote-controlled wheelchair.

Again looking at the drawing pad, Max felt like asking, "You were drawing?" The girl nodded shyly in reply which earned another smile from Max, "Mind if I take a look?" she asked.

"Okay…" The shy young girl handed her drawing pad to Max, albeit shy and meekly.

Max gladly took the pad and started flipping pages. Each page had a beautiful art drawn to it. She couldn't help but admire the young girl's talent. The drawing was quite mature for the girl's age and quite distinct. But each drawing Max observed it had one emotion quite etched to it. It was sad. A bird in a cage looking at its peers as they fly away. A doll by the window looking outside with visages of kids playing. A portrait of a beautiful woman. Max easily understood what the girl was drawing. Mostly herself, as she perceived she was bound to a wheelchair. Remembering what Chloe felt in the alternate timeline Max created. Feeling bound, helpless and her life feeling stalled. Max's couldn't hold the tearing up of her eyes.

"Are you really okay?" The girl asked again.

"Sorry, just remembered a friend. I am alright." Max replied with a slight smile on her lips, "These are beautiful. You are quite talented." It was not until the latest, unfinished artwork which earned Max a confused look on her face, and she tilted her head towards the girl, who tried to avert her eyes from Max. It was Max in the drawing, It was unfinished, but it's the same scene what transpired just earlier. Max, by the railing, looking away at the cityscape.

"I… I'm sorry, I saw you standing here and… and you looked pretty but sad and I just… draw. I am sorry." The girl replied hesitantly, even a bit scared.

Max didn't say anything this time but put her hand on the young girl's, "It's alright. I don't mind. In fact, I like it so. Too bad it's not finished. But…" she paused, "Why did you stop? Because you accidentally fell?"

The girl stayed silent for a few moments, which made Max curious albeit not pushing the question. Finally, the younger girl spoke, "I thought… I thought you were going to… jump and I wanted to stop you and I fell." She said, yet again, averting her eyes completely from Max.

Max felt pins in her heart. She really was going to jump? If this girl's accident didn't happen, she could've jumped to end this? End everything before she got her revenge. _'What was I thinking?'_ Max thought to herself again, _'I was trying to run away? Again?'_

 _'Because you are a coward, Max.' 'You always ran away when things weren't easy for you.' 'Isn't it what you always do? Run away like a coward bitch, tails between your legs, Max.' 'She doesn't want to avenge us. She's a coward, go ahead Max, just kill yourself, cuz you cannot do it. You will not avenge us.'_ The voices return to taunt her again.

Ignoring the voices of her former friends, with their sole purpose of tormenting her for every decision she made, every thought she had in her head. They were just there to feed on her doubt and mock her of her existence. Maybe the hurt and dejection she was feeling from the voice spilled on Max's face that the young girl slowly placed her hand on Max's gloved one which once again, brought Max back to the cruel reality she was in and lift her head to face the young girl again, who had an equal sad look in her beautiful eyes. Max shook away the grave feelings and stretched her lips to form a smile to mask her own uncertainty.

"Sorry that I gave you the implication that I was going to jump and made you worry. I just leaned in to support myself. Been a bit under the weather since earlier." Max lied to the young girl, despite knowing it would not convince her but why would she involve a young girl whom she doesn't even know the name of. Which reminded Max, she never asked the girl's name.

"Oh, I was so into these drawings and I didn't catch your name. I am Alice Carlson." Max asked the young girl while introducing herself.

"Oh yes, Sorry. I am Audrey. Audrey Jefferson." The young girl replied.


End file.
